


The Town That Eats People

by Miss_Vile



Series: Nygmobblepot One Shots [24]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, POV Second Person, Southern Gothic, batman is a cryptid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Vile/pseuds/Miss_Vile
Summary: As your car sputters to a halt, you let out a groan and cut the engine. You attempt to rub the tension from your temple but all it does is make it throb more. The headache hasn’t let up since passing the sign that read“Welcome to Gotham— This Town Eats People.”
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: Nygmobblepot One Shots [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1396144
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	The Town That Eats People

**Author's Note:**

> WELP... a death in the family and a massive ice storm that cut out power for 300k families kept me from being able to finish [On The Corner of Neibolt and Waterbury](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755135/chapters/65270956) on time. I'll probably post the next chapter early next week and the finale sometime before the weekend (Maybe, I'm also getting artwork ready for an art show sooooo we'll see).
> 
> SO! Since I suck, I decided to publish my Haven Zine piece early. It's spooky and tis the season so here ya go! let me know if you appreciated the spooks in the comments.

You should have stopped for gas ten miles back.

As your car sputters to a halt, you let out a groan and cut the engine. You attempt to rub the tension from your temple but all it does is make it throb more. The headache hasn’t let up since passing the sign that read  _ “Welcome to Gotham— This Town Eats People.” _

There hasn’t been a phone signal on this banal stretch of road nor have you seen any other cars. So, you grab the empty gas canister and start walking. It shouldn’t be  _ too  _ far. It wasn’t that long ago that you saw the sign so presumably, that meant there was civilization just beyond those trees.

You stick to the road as you enter the creepy old wood—having enough head upon your shoulders to know better than to wander off through the unfamiliar trees. The sun starts to set and soon the only thing keeping you company is the relentless song of the summer cicadas.

Time drifts by and you start to notice little things. Was that the same pile of rocks you just passed? And… did those vines on that tree just move? You pick up the pace and quietly pray that it is all just figments of your imagination. 

Before long, you spot a light through a thicket of brier. It requires you to stray from the road but, surely it wouldn’t lead you that much astray. You count your steps all the way to the entrance of a large house. A mansion, rather. The stone edifice resembled teeth in the black.

Your hand roves over the wrought-iron gate and chips away at the lichen.  _ Wayne Manor,  _ it reads. Slowly, you make your way towards the door. The large door knocker in the shape of an open-mouthed gargoyle creaks when you move it. Decades of dust of moss coat its surface. You knock three times and the echo startles you.

You look up towards the single, flickering candlelight in the window up above. There, looking down, is a figure. You wave to them and feel your heart leap into your throat when the candle is snuffed out. You sigh and turn toward the path that leads to the road.  _ They must not want company,  _ you assume.

The road is nowhere to be found. You’re certain you know where it is but, no matter how you retrace your steps, you can’t find it. Your heart starts pounding as you panic and head off down a different path.

Something snarls at you from the underbrush and you swear you can feel it coil around your ankles. Before you know it, you’re clamoring through the mud. You trip, let out a scream, and you’re certain that the void devours it as it creeps ever closer. 

You climb to your feet and rest your back against a tree so you can catch your breath. You stuff your hands into your pockets and cry. You’ve lost your keys.

“Fuck…” you bury your face in your hands. You should have heeded the signs.

A twig snaps nearby. Your head spins around as you desperately try to adjust your eyes to the dark.

“Who’s there?” you say. You ball up your fists and wince at the pain of your fingernails digging into the palm of your hand. You step away from the safety of the tree and look around. Your eyes widen when you realize there isn’t a single sound— no cicadas, no bullfrogs, not even the rustling of the leaves.

Dread fills your limbs as you feel something nagging at the back of your mind.  _ Look up,  _ your instinct tells you. Your face contorts from fear as you tremble and slowly tilt your chin towards the sky.

The bat is larger than any you have ever seen. In fact, it resembles a man more than it does a bat. Its eyes pierce through the darkness— illuminating like tiny, terrible stars. Glowing from inside his skull like it was on fire. It extends its wings out toward you and you barely have time to think before you’re running in the opposite direction of the monster.

Your muscles and chest ache but you never stop running. You’re too scared to look back to see if it is chasing you and, truthfully, you don’t want to look at its face when it inevitably catches up with you. You would much rather not know the deadly blow was coming and instead cling to the hope that this was all just some nightmare you can escape.

There is light in the distance. The merciful flickering of neon and the buzzing of incandescent bulbs and moths that flock there. You drop to your knees on the asphalt and hiss at the searing pain. You practically crawl toward the door.

You feel a cold wind rush towards you as you pull the door open and slam it behind you. Dead leaves rustle at your feet as you take in painful, gasping breaths. You pause and slowly turn around to see a dreadful myriad of eyes all looking up at you.

An old sign is hung above the bar that reads  _ The Iceberg Lounge. _

“Uh… hello?” you greet the patrons.

They each roll their eyes and continue on with what they were doing. Tentatively, you limp toward the bar. You want to keep your nose to the ground but the people here are so  _ different _ that you can’t help but stare.

There is a man seated near the door who looks as though he was split in two. One half of his face is marred with scars and forever in an expression of torment. Beside him is a woman who, at first glance seems normal. But, as she looks at you, her eyes glow an eerie yellow. Your gaze lingers far too long and she hisses at you like a cat, her fangs sharp and beastly.

You stumble away from her and find yourself face to face with a man clad in molding burlap. Straw pokes out from the frayed edges of his coat. His long, needle-like fingernails tap on the edge of the table.

“Like Alice, you appear to be lost,” the man with an oversized tophat says, “Now, you have stumbled in here and do not yet know the cost.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and try to think of something to say. Again, your eye trails over the sea of faces— a man who resembles a crocodile more than a man, a girl who looks like a porcelain doll, among several others. All of whom seem otherworldly and just as frightening as the next.

Finally, you settle on the two men at the bar. A man in green with long, ratty hair places a kiss on the jaw of the bartender. They’re whispering something amongst themselves, but they seem like the most normal people here besides yourself.

“Welcome,” the older gentleman behind the bar says as you approach, “What can I get you?”

“Water?”

The bar erupts in laughter and nearly startles you out of your skin.

“Oh, my dear, trust me when I say you do  _ not _ want to drink the water here,” his eyes narrow, “Unless you never want to leave, that is.”

“A soda then?” you chuckle nervously.

“Coming right up,” he smiles brightly at you. There is a twinkle in his eye behind his monocle that makes you wonder what’s truly hidden beneath that kind and cheerful demeanor.

“Riddle me this…” the man in green perks up beside you. He leans in much too close, “What threatens the living, entertains the dead, and ignores the monsters?”

“Uhhhmm…”

“Eddie, darling, don’t frighten off my customers,” the man with the monocle returned with a tall glass of ice, a slice of blood orange, and what looked to be some house specialty cola.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask, hopeful it isn’t more than the cash stashed in your pocket.

“It’s on the house if you tell me what brings you to our humble little town,” he leans across the bar, that twinkle suddenly a harsh and vibrant flame, “We don’t get many outsiders.”

Something trickles down your face. When you look down, a single droplet of blood lands on the polished bar. The man beside you, Eddie, hands you a handkerchief.

“Sorry, I must have hit my nose while I was running.”

“Running?” the man with the monocle raises an eyebrow.

“I was just passing through and I ran out of gas. I thought that maybe I could walk to a gas station, but I got lost,” you explain, “I found this creepy old house out in the woods.”

“Oh?” Eddie purrs, “And what did you see?”

“I saw…” you pause at the silence surrounding you. The alarm bells in your mind tell you to turn. You do so and are met with those terrifying faces looming behind you, eager to drink in your story.

“Go on, kitten,” the woman with yellow eyes appears behind the bar, gracefully procuring a bottle of créme liqueur from a high shelf.

“I saw a man,” the words spill out quickly, “Or, at least I  _ think _ it was a man. It was much too big to  _ actually _ be a bat, but…”

The man with the monocle nods his head toward the man with two faces. He slowly peels the blinds down to look out at the mostly vacant parking lot and toward the line of trees.

“Nah, Penguin. I don’t see him.”

“Who?” you ask, heart pounding in your chest.

“The Batman, my dear,” the Penguin smiles. He places a hand on your shoulder and it is only then that you notice the odd deformity of his fingers, “Don’t worry. You are safe with us.”

“I take it he chased you through the woods?” Eddie asks, swiping the blood and mud from your brow with his thumb and then wiping it on your shirt collar.

“Yes,” you knead at the scrapes on the palm of your hands, “Have you seen him too?”

“We’ve done more than just see him,” the man with two faces says.

“Did you get a good look at his face?” Eddie asks, “The face beyond the mask.”

The large, crocodile man growls, “He don’t even wear a mask!”

“I heard he was the ghost that lives in old Wayne Manor,” the porcelain doll speaks, her voice much too old for the tiny body she inhabits.

“Ghost?” you say, “He looked pretty real to me.”

“Ever since Martha and Thomas Wayne died, the whole town’s been swallowed up. That poor Wayne kid inherited everything and has been cooped up in that house ever since. Some folks say he died there and haunts the woods,” the catlike woman explains.

“I heard it was an experiment that escaped from the basement of Arkham Asylum,” the scarecrow man stood, “That his blood is made of tar and vengeance.”

“A creature  _ most  _ foul,” the man in the tophat pours sand from his teapot, but drinks it like it was water, “He lurks like a demon, alert and on the prowl!”

“He coulda crawled outta da swamp like myself or Grundy,” the crocodile man says, “His wings got scales and his voice be like da croakin’ of bullfrogs.”

“I think he’s just a man,” Eddie says, sipping his drink, “Which makes him far more terrifying.”

“What about you?” you ask the Penguin, who has been oddly silent.

“Me? Oh… I never leave here,” he says. His eye twitches.

“Never?”

“It’s like one day the Iceberg Lounge appeared out of the ground and I came with it,” he smiles like he knows a secret you don’t, “Eddie’s been the only one keeping me company.”

The Penguin reached out and cupped the man’s face in the palm of his large hand. Eddie leans into the touch and places a kiss to his wrist. The sight of it might have been sweet had there not been so many questions raised.

The door opens and the lounge grows quiet. You turn your head towards the disturbance and see an older man. Lines age his face and speak volumes of the horrors he’s seen in this small town of Gotham. His blue eyes lock with yours across the bar and he steadily makes his way over towards you.

“James Gordon,” the Penguin croons, “What brings you to my honest little establishment?”

“Don’t worry, Penguin. I’m not shutting you down tonight,” he pulls a set of keys—  _ your keys _ — from his coat pocket, “I got a call about a car abandoned on the side of the road. We filled up the tank for you.”

“Oh…” you say, relief washing over you as you clutch the bits of metal and keychains, “Thank you. I got kinda lost on my way to a gas station.”

“We parked it out front for you so you won’t have to walk far. Just… uh…” he leans in, “Don’t stay for too long. Especially not here.”

He leaves but the tension in the bar remains thick. You turn towards the Penguin and slide your glass forward, “I should get going.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says with a wicked grin.

You start the ignition and let out a sigh of relief when everything seems to be in its place. The tank is full and there’s even a roadmap tucked in the visor. As you start to pull out, your eye catches something in the passenger seat. You pick up the small envelope and carefully open its contents.

_ Sorry I scared you. _

_ Safe travels, _

_ The Batman _

You set the letter aside and pause. There is a flash of movement beside the car. You decide that letting your eyes flicker towards the figure would be... unwise. You switch gears, turn on the radio to the nearest clear station, and drive off.

You drive for a few more miles and yawn. The station has been playing the same few songs on loop since you turned on the radio. You turn off the music and gasp when your car sputters to a halt.

“No no no…” you say, staring at the glowing  _ ‘E’ _ on your dash. You cry out in a mix of fear and frustration before stepping out of your car and slamming the door shut. You slide down to the asphalt and groan.

Then, looking up, you notice it.

A sign out by the road.

_ Welcome to Gotham _ , it reads.

_  
This Town Eats People. _


End file.
